Please Have Snow, and Mistletoe
by xXLiquidSugarXx
Summary: A sequel to I'll be home for Christmas. Another year of snows in Paris for d'Artagnan, and this year he's decided to teach miss Bonacieux to skate. The snow falls, ice cracks, and Porthos is a pig. Time to celebrate the holidays.


_Hi guys! I'm back, after a long, long (far too long) unintended break. So here it is, the next Christmas fic. For what else is there to do at this time of year other than procrastinate studying and write? God, I have missed you guys. By the by, this is very much unbeta'd.  
~LS_

Snow drifted down into the clearing silently and softly, catching on the boughs of the tall evergreens. D'Artagnan brushed some of the small flakes off of his cloak as he hurried to the edge of the frozen pond. It was his second winter staying in Paris, and he was desperate to skate. The three musketeers had bought him a pair of skates last winter and painstakingly taught him to skate, resulting in lasting bruises on all four men.

Today though was different. This year he was going to teach Constance how to skate. D'Artagnan had found out the native northerner didn't know how to do the popular winter activity over tea when the first snows came. He had quickly promised to teach her, only later remembering that he barely knew how to glide across the ice himself. So, an hour before Constance was due to meet him in the clearing just outside the city d'Artagnan had taken his skates from the closet, yelled a farewell at Planchet, and dashed out into the snow.

It was still too cold in d'Artagnan's opinion, but the many layers and thick cloak were serving him well. Reaching the edge of the blue, frozen lake he quickly slipped off his boots and laced himself into the skates. Getting to his feet, d'Artagnan wobbled the last few feet to the water's edge. Nearly as soon as he'd put his foot on the ice it slipped out from under him and d'Artagnan came crashing down on his behind.

"Ow!" called d'Artagnan to the stillness of the snow. The powdered ground muffled his cry.

Blinking the snow out of his eyes d'Artagnan stood and tried again. This time he managed to keep his footing and shakily set out in the sliding steps that Aramis had shown him last year. Soon enough he was circling around the lake with ease, a smile stretched across his face.

"So I see you got started without me," called a voice from between the trees.

D'Artagnan was so startled he tried to turn to fast. This resulted in him tripping over his own feet and sprawling across the ice.

As d'Artagnan looked up his eyes were met with a vision. Constance was hurrying towards the lake with a look on her face as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or be concerned. Her blonde hair was braided elegantly around her head, and she was the perfect figure of the holiday season in a deep red gown and fur lined green cloak.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," d'Artagnan called out to Constance with a smile. "You ready to learn from a master?"

"Must you always be so cocky?"

"Only on Tuesdays, or when beautiful women are involved," d'Artagnan followed their usual banter with a smile.

"So you think I'm beautiful?"

"It isn't Tuesday, is it?"

It was, in fact, a Thursday afternoon, and Constance's cheeks glowed with the compliment.

They quickly had Constace's skates on and she was wandering out onto the ice. D'Artagnan was enjoying leading her around, her small hands in his as she stumbled through the awkward glide of skating. Soon Constance was smiling and laughing with d'Artagnan as the circled around the lake, picking up speed and dancing on the ice. The two teens were enjoying themselves as the snow fell gently around them.

"I think this the most fun I've had in winter ever!" said Constance cheerily as she glided past d'Artagnan towards the middle of the lake.

So far they had been sticking to the solidly frozen edges of the lake, but their happiness blurred out any sense of danger, and the two only had eyes for each other. Soon the two were circling each other in the center, drawing ever closer. D'Artagnan drew Constance in close. He could see the snowflakes stuck in her eyelashes and the faint beads of sweat at her temples. To him she never looked more beautiful. D'Artagnan leaned down as if to kiss her, when she twirled out of his arms and glided a few feet down the ice with a cat-like grin on her face.

The grin changed to a look of fear as a deep crack echoed through the clearing. Looking down, Constance saw the spider webbing cracks radiating out from beneath her skates.

"D'Artagnan!" her voice trembled with terror.

D'Artagnan felt that same fear freeze his insides and slowly bent down to untie his skates. His woolen socks caught on the ice and the harsh cold immediately bit down into his toes. Able to disperse his weight easier he edged slowly towards Constance.

"Hey, hey, look at me, it'll be alright," d'Artagnan kept his voice calm and even, despite his fear. "Would I ever let anything happen to you?"

Constance was relaxing as she shook her head no.

"So have a little faith, nothing is going to happen to you today. Just stay still and I'll come get you, see?" d'Artagnan was about three feet away when the ice started cracking more, splintering under Constance's skates.

Lunging forward, d'Artagnan pushed Constance out of the way and onto more solid ice just as the cracked patch gave, revealing the dark, frigid water below. Unfortunately for d'Artagnan, pushing Constance out of danger resulted in him taking her place. The cold water rushed around him, knocking the breath out of his chest. D'Artagnan had the presence of mind to stretch out his hands as he fell, and they caught on the edge of the hole. The jagged ice bit deep into d'Artagnan's flesh and his blood stained the ice as he heaved himself out of the water with all of his strength.

"D'Artagnan! Oh God, are you alright? D'Artagnan!" Constance helped heave the shivering boy back to the bank.

Without pausing to collect their boots Constance dragged an almost unresponsive d'Artagnan though the forest back towards Paris. No longer was the snow pretty or inviting. Instead the falling flakes mocked Constance's plight as she struggled to keep upright on the snow-covered ground in skates. Whenever she risked looking down to check on d'Artagnan his lips were a little more blue, his skin a little paler, and his eyes a little more unfocused.

Twice she fell before reaching the city limits. It was hard to get back up, and to this day Constance swears she doesn't know where she found the strength to stand back up, pick up deadweight d'Artagnan, and keep going. When she did reach the city walls she screamed. She screamed like all the terrors in the world were lined up before her.

Lucky for her the nearest patrolman who heard these cries was Porthos. Immediately upon seeing the distressed girl and the corpse-like boy he rushed forward, removing his own cloak to wrap around d'Artagnan. Porthos then took the boy into his arms and stood, carrying him like there was no extra weight. Another patrolman who had heard Constance's screams and come to the scene helped the girl follow behind, as skates and cobblestones don't generally mix well.

Reaching the house Porthos kicked the door open, making the three inhabitants of the house jump and two reach for their swords. Aramis and Athos looked properly startled and concerned as Porthos shoved them aside to place d'Artagnan on the rug in front of the fireplace. Planchet retreated to the kitchen and began pulling down pots and filling them with water.

"What in the seven Hells has happened?" demanded Athos as he crouched by the boy, running a hand over the cool skin of d'Artagnan's cheek.

"Miss Bonacieux brought him to the edge of town like that, and was screaming bloody murder. Étienne should be bringing her here. She's still got her skates on, poor girl," explained Porthos as he pulled off d'Artagnan's sodden clothes.

At that point Constance had reached the musketeer's house and was wrenching the skates off her feet.

"How is he? Is he alright?" Constance rushed into the room, only to be held back by Aramis.

"He will be, once he warms up. What happened?" asked Aramis.

"He saved me. We were skating, in the middle of the lake, when the ice cracked beneath me. He pushed me out of the way, but ended up falling in himself. Oh, his hands! They were cut by the ice! They should be bound immediately."

"We will take care of it, miss Bonacieux. The fact you got him here so quickly probably saved his life. Relax, he will not be going anywhere for a while as he warms up. Why don't you let me find you some boots and escort you back to the palace," said Aramis, taking the girls arm and steering her away from d'Artagnan. The boy needed sleep and rest, not a girl's flustered fussing.

"One moment," replied Constance as she wriggled out of Aramis' grasp and to d'Artagnan's side. Leaning over the boy, she let her lips brush his. "Get well quickly."

With that she let herself be taken away by Aramis.

Athos and Porthos shared a look as she left the room.

"That ought to have raised the boy's temperature a few degrees," chuckled Porthos.

"You, my friend, are a pig. Let's get this boy warm shall we?" Athos said as he settled in for a long night of playing nurse.

Outside the snow still fell soft and silent.


End file.
